


Discipline

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Clothing Kink, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Porn, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-19
Updated: 2009-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can it really be a punishment if Luke likes it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> Luke is 17.

“What about this one?” Luke says, holding up a glossy flyer. “The world’s oldest diner! Their milkshakes are supposedly world famous!”

“No,” Sylar says, dismissing him shortly. He’s studying the device the SWAT team had strapped to Luke’s chest, trying to work out how to counteract it if they ever get close enough to strap one to him and Luke’s done nothing but try to break his concentration, babbling on about every tourist trap he’d grabbed a brochure for from the hotel lobby.

“Okay…” It’s the fifth outright rejection in a row, but Luke won’t be deterred. “What about this? The World’s Largest Ball of Twine.”

Sylar looks up long enough to glare at him.

“Oh come on,” Luke whines. “It’ll be fun. We can set it on fire!”

“Enough!” Sylar’s never had much patience, but Luke manages to sap what he does have in double quick time. “Tomorrow we’re driving straight to see my father. No diversions. No diners. No _balls of twine_. Do you understand me?”

“Jeez, what’s the big deal, anyway? You haven’t seen him in twenty-five years! It’s not like another couple of days is gonna make a difference. Why d’you wanna see him, anyway? He left; you couldn’t pay me to go see my old man--”

“Shut up!”

“I’m just saying--”

Sylar slams Luke face first against the wall. He pins him there with the weight of his body, one forearm tight across the back of his shoulders.

“You need to learn to watch your mouth, Luke,” he growls.

“Or what?” Luke pants. He’s pushing back, still defiant, trying to wriggle out from between Sylar and the wall. “You’ll kill me?”

Luke’s voice quavers and his breathing is ragged but there’s a mocking tone in what he says, like he doesn’t believe for a second that Sylar would really do it. _Stupid, arrogant boy_, Sylar thinks, contemplating murder just to prove a point. Sylar takes half a step back, giving Luke enough room to catch his breath and brush himself off; enough room to make him think he’s won, and then, Sylar grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drags him backwards.

“Sylar! What the fuck?” he yelps. Sylar’s iron grip on his hip stops Luke from getting away.

Sylar walks backwards, pulling Luke with him, ignoring the nails that claw at his hands and the string of curses Luke’s bleating. He sits heavily on the edge of the mattress and delivers one swift kick to Luke’s ankles. Luke overbalances, catching himself with his hands on the bed, but not before he’s landed ass up over Sylar’s lap. He tries to scramble away but Sylar’s hand is heavy on his shoulder and telekinetic pressure at his hips keep him pinned in place.

“Seriously, Sylar, what the hell are you--?”

The loud clap of Sylar’s palm to Luke’s ass cuts him off. Luke sucks in a loud breath and Sylar slaps his ass again, drawing his hand back and throwing all his weight into it. Luke grunts in pain and indignation, trying to twist his body, looking over his shoulder, red-faced, as Sylar spanks him again and again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Sylar, quit it! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Luke’s protests do nothing but make Sylar hit him harder, the blows coming quicker as Luke exhausts himself trying to break free. Telekinetic hands slam down onto Luke’s shoulders and the back of his neck, keeping his face smothered in the comforter to drown out his cries.

“You need to watch your mouth,” Sylar pants. “You need to stop whining and stop complaining. And you need to do as you’re told.” He punctuates every word with another slap.

“_Fuck you_,” Luke hisses.

Sylar fingers twitch with rage and his hand at the back of Luke’s neck squeezes tight enough to choke. He spanks Luke again and again and again, without pause until his own palm is red raw and tingling numbly from where he has struck the metal studs on Luke’s back pockets and the rough weave of his cords has chafed his skin. His chest heaves and his bicep burns, and in his exhaustion, Sylar’s anger starts to clear. Luke’s protests have become muffled whimpers. He sniffles into the comforter, gripping great handfuls of the fabric and clutching to the bed with all his strength. There’s a vivid blush that’s staining Luke’s skin from the nape of his neck, seeping down below the collar of his t-shirt. His plump cheeks are streaked with tears; his eyes are scrunched shut in humiliation. Finally, Sylar’s managed to shut him the hell up.

Sylar finds he’s shaking all over as much as Luke is, and he shifts his weight, trying to get some feeling back in his legs. He strokes Luke, idly, from the back of his knees up to the small of his back. He doesn’t want hit him anymore, but he doesn’t want to let him go, yet, either.

Sylar only notices the hardness pressing against his lap when Luke’s hips jerk and he feels a hot wetness seeping through his jeans.

“Fuck,” Luke mumbles miserably, snivelling and whimpering more when Sylar roughly caresses his ass.

There’s an awkward pause and Luke squirms, the wet patch starting to cool between them. “Stand up,” Sylar eventually orders.

Luke slides off his lap. Sylar has to grab his hips and steady him as Luke’s knees begin to buckle under his own weight. Sylar spreads his legs and tugs Luke close between his knees.

Luke’s blushing harder, now, wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand, wincing as even the slightest movement makes his backside ache. His bottom lip quivers, but he barely makes a sound. When Sylar’s thumbs edge up under the hem of his t-shirt and trace the line of the waistband of his pants, Luke shivers but doesn’t speak.

Sylar cocks his head to the side, eyes level with the damp mark spreading across Luke’s groin. This close to him, Sylar can smell the tart, chlorine scent of Luke’s come, can almost taste the bitterness of Luke’s spunk on the roof of his mouth. He glances up, but Luke’s looking steadily at the wall opposite, cheeks a fierce, bright red, his hands curled into tight, angry fists at his sides.

“Take your clothes off,” he orders. “I’ll send them to the hotel laundry.”

He watches Luke’s Adam’s apple bob, and hears him swallow dryly. Luke’s lips twitch and for a moment, Sylar thinks he might say no, but his mouth forms a hard line and with shaking hands, he peels his t-shirt over his head. Luke’s blush has spread down his chest. His puffy, pink nipples are hard and tight; the fine, light hairs on his arms stand on end. He hesitates as he reaches for his belt.

“Go on,” Sylar urges. He licks his lips as Luke unbuckles his belt with clumsy fingers, dragging down his zipper with Sylar’s nose just inches away.

Luke inhales a shuddering breath and tries to push down his cords, but Sylar’s hands are still clamped tight to his hips. With a frustrated grunt he finally looks down and when he glares at Sylar, Sylar slowly pulls down his pants until they bunch around Luke’s knees. Luke’s swaying slightly and Sylar caresses him up the outside of his thighs, letting the thin cotton of Luke’s boxers gather under his palms as he moves them up and down in long, soothing, strokes.

Luke’s scent is richer now, thick and musky, and the front of his underwear is a darker blue, sticking to his crotch where his semen has cooled. Sylar leans forward and presses his nose to the soft flesh of Luke’s groin.

“Dude!” Luke mutters, nervous. He stumbles back but Sylar holds him steady with one firm hand curved around his ass. Through his boxers, Sylar can feel the heat from Luke’s spanked ass warming his palm.

When Sylar’s tongue flicks out to drag over the wet patch along Luke’s fly, Luke’s fingers tangle in his hair. “_Sylar!_”

Sylar mouths at the threadbare fabric, sucking at the mix of semen and sweat imbued within it. It’s a salty, bitter taste that Sylar likes, with a strange chemical aftertaste from the dye of the cotton or the fabric softener last used. He rolls the material between his lips, flicking the tip of his tongue against it until he’s mapped the outline of the stain. Sylar crushes his nose to the seam between Luke’s inner thigh and groin and breathes him in, muffling his groans against Luke’s quaking body.

Luke’s fingers rake through his hair, nails catching lightly on Sylar’s scalp as he lilts forward, letting Sylar nuzzle his face deeper between his legs. He braces himself on Sylar’s shoulder, running his hands over Sylar’s shoulders and neck and upper back. When Sylar turns his gaze upwards, he sees Luke curling over him, head hanging down with his eyes shut and his lips parted, soft moans coming in time to the lap of Sylar’s tongue.

Luke’s hips roll forward and he grinds himself against Sylar’s face, Sylar’s nose flush against the line of his re-hardening cock. When Luke’s underwear is as wet with Sylar’s spit as it is with spunk, Sylar pulls away. Luke reluctantly lets him.

Luke gnaws at his bottom lip, shifting his weight as he looks down on Sylar from under heavy lids with wide blown, expectant eyes. Sylar slowly works down his boxers, fondling Luke’s ass roughly as he goes to hear Luke’s pretty, tortured groans. Halfway down, Sylar carefully pulls the waistband out and snaps it back against Luke’s balls.

“_Oh shit_,” Luke whimpers. His hips snap forward and his cock jerks up. Sylar has to dart back to avoid getting cock-slapped across the cheek.

“You’re going to be good now, aren’t you?” Sylar asks, fingering his waistband threateningly.

“Yes,” Luke hisses. Sylar lets the elastic ping back at him again, but more softly now, and turns his face to kiss Luke’s hands when they blindly reach out to stroke his face.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, pleased at the way Luke squirms where he stands at Sylar’s words, licking his lips at the sight of Luke’s full cock bouncing up and down. He shoves Luke’s boxers down the rest of the way and runs one apologetic thumb over his sac, brushing the pink line where the elastic had slapped his balls. “Turn around for me.”

Luke shuffles around without hesitation, ass still bright red as it comes into Sylar’s view. He leans forward and places a gentle kiss to each cheek, sighing at the heat of his raw and sensitive skin against his lips. Sylar rests against him, enjoying the sight of his battered, plump ass, pink all over from the small of his back to the tops of his thighs. He rubs his cheek over Luke’s skin and chuckles to himself when Luke gasps at the rough scratch of his stubble, caught between trying to pull away and trying to push back into the feeling. Sylar drags one dry finger down the cleft between his cheeks and teases over Luke’s asshole, feeling the texture of his skin and the way the muscle twitches at his caress. Then, he pulls away completely and tugs Luke around again to face him.

Sylar takes Luke’s t-shirt and uses it to clean him, the fabric staining with sticky, cool semen and the fresh, wet dribbles of pre-come as Sylar wraps the cotton around Luke’s cock and wipes up from root to tip. When he’s satisfied that Luke is clean, he ducks his head and takes one last sniff of Luke’s groin, letting the pale, coarse hair around his base tickle the tip of his nose. Sylar kisses Luke’s hip quickly and orders, “Go take a shower.”

Luke bends over quickly and pecks Sylar on the lips. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles against Sylar’s mouth, sucking naughtily at Sylar’s bottom lip before stepping out his pants and boxers and darting to the bathroom.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Sylar’s on his back, long legs still hanging over the edge of the bed as he rips open his fly and pushes down his briefs enough to let his cock spring free. He fists his hand in Luke’s soiled t-shirt and brings the fabric to his face, smothering himself with the soft cotton and Luke’s rich scent as he rubs the head of his cock with his thumb, spreading the pre-come that’s been leaking from his tip since he could first smell Luke’s spunk in the air.

Sylar shoves his hand and Luke’s t-shirt down the front of his pants, using the fabric to jerk his cock. It’s a tight fit and the waistband of his briefs bites into the back of his hand, his skin catching on the metallic teeth of the fly of his jeans, but he’s too far gone to think about wriggling free of his clothes.

He closes his eyes and thinks about Luke writhing in the car tomorrow, moaning under his breath with every sharp corner Sylar takes or sudden stop. He thinks about Luke mouthing off; about dragging him over his knee again; about this time being aware enough to feel Luke rutting against his thigh as he’s spanked. He fantasises about pulling at Luke’s soft, short hair and feeding his cock between those soft lips, plump round cheeks bright red and wet with tears. He thinks about fucking Luke hard, about the sound of his balls slapping against Luke’s raw ass and, with a twist of his wrist, Sylar comes, all over his hand and Luke’s shirt, staining the hem of his own shirt and his underwear too as he rubs his spunk back down his length and strokes himself down.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. The laundry is going to be busy tonight.


End file.
